


Point of Origin

by OrganyzedKhaos



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Semi-Canon Compliant, Canon pre-story character death, Families of Choice, OCs for plot - Freeform, Origin Story, Team to family, bad shit will (eventually) happen, because blade is incredibly Not Prepared for this, despite the author's best efforts, ft. the Old Piston Peak Air Attack team, like really bad, questionable accuracy of wildland firefighting terminology, rated for language, sorta - Freeform, timeline: 1985-2014, who are mostly OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrganyzedKhaos/pseuds/OrganyzedKhaos
Summary: So that’s where she recognizes him from; it’s no wonder she didn’t catch on sooner, though. He’d looked better, more recognizable in the blues—red was just too bright for him, for his personality. Why he traded them out for red, why he is at Piston Peak in the first place, is beyond Carbon. Whatever the reason, he’s still here to be a firefighter, and Halo’s gonna treat him like it. She takes this new information in stride, though still wondering just why he looks so haunted at only thirty-five years old.“Well, Hollywood,” she says, watching as Blade instantly scowls at her in response. She ignores the look and throws her tines out in welcome. “Welcome to Piston Peak Air Attack."
Relationships: Blade Ranger/Nick Lopez (past)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Point of Origin

**Author's Note:**

> My first big multi-chapter project, and of course it's about Planes: Fire & Rescue. I'm trash, yes, I know. This is also Blade-centric, because I am trash for our favorite red Fire Chief. 
> 
> (Just warning you: this is gonna get deep. Eventually.)
> 
> Big thanks to my beta readers: [@PenNameArtist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenNameArtist) and [@StormblazeP51](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormblazeP51)! 
> 
> *Note: for clarification on numbers in [], please continue to the notes at the bottom of the page.*

“The Academy is sending us another helitanker.” Carbon, Piston Peak’s Chief Mechanic, deadpans. With the crunch of gravel and small stones under her tires, the little white and black-pinstriped tug turns around to face her Chief, green eyes following his shadow until they meet with his own pitch black ones. Chief Fyodor Ivanov, known as Halo, sits on the apron just outside of her repair bay; completely still aside from the subtle, almost indistinguishable twitching of his massive, heavy rotor blades. If Carbon were literally any other person (outside of the other helicopters), she might have failed to notice—but being a medic, Carbon could see very clearly the tell-tale signs of anxiety. Something had Halo flighty this morning, for whatever reason. “Look, I hate to tell ya this, Boss, but we don’t need another one. The tankers we already have are plenty.”

Under normal circumstances, the prospect of getting another teammate would be met by enthusiasm from the Chief Mechanic, and just about anybody else on Base. But the base was already chock-full of people—twenty-nine, overall—and that paired with the severely limited medical staff (just Carbon and Torque) left more problems than Carbon could excuse. Namely the ever-looming threat of task saturation.

Ah, but arguing with Chief Halo is futile. The white, gray, and blue behemoth of a helicopter—a former-Soviet Mil Mi-26—is honestly one of the most stubborn people Carbon had come to know, and talking sense into the old man is out of the question. Once in a blue moon the Deputy Chief, Torch, could do the impossible and talk some sense into the Chief, but the mechanic does not share in the C-130’s knack for persuasion. When Halo wants something, he generally receives it; no questions asked. Whether this is because he’s that stubborn, Palmer likes him, he’s too intimidating to argue with, or a combination of the three is anybody’s guess. Carbon knows she’s fighting a losing battle, but like many of the Base’s other residents, she will not go down without a fight.

“I know,” Halo, still fidgeting on the apron, rumbles after a moment of consideration—though Carbon knows all she just told him went in one ear and out the other. Like he always does when he’s told something he doesn’t want to hear, Halo is clearly disregarding Carbon’s quiet concern, and that infuriates the Chief Mechanic like nothing else. It’s the moments like these, when Halo disregards other,  _ professional _ opinions, that get people killed. While that doesn’t make Halo a bad person or an incompetent Chief, his habitual need to do things  _ his _ way and charge on ahead with little to no outside opinions is what has, and will likely continue to cause accidents. And though very few have died thanks to Halo’s inability to see reason, certain accidents could have very well have been avoided if he had just taken a moment to follow the lead of others. He even  _ knows _ this, yet makes no effort to change.

You can lead a Mustang to water, but you can’t make it drink.

“Clearly you  _ don’t _ know.” Carbon snorts. Then she places her tines together and closes her eyes, trying (and failing) to withhold a long-suffering sigh. She understands how another helitanker would benefit them, certainly, but the risks are far too great. It has been Carbon and Torque as the Base's two mechanics for many years, tasked with overseeing the medical care of twenty-seven firefighters, themselves, and the Base Dispatcher. "Halo, for the love of  _ all _ that is holy, can you  _ please _ consider the task that you are asking me and Torque to undertake? There are already twenty-seven of you firefighters, and only two of us mechanics; we're at such a risk of being overwhelmed it isn't even funny. Maybe— _ maybe _ —I'd be more considerate if we had another mechanic, but since that isn't the case right now, I'm just not comfortable with minding another helicopter's well-being without one. I'm sorry, really, I am, but I cannot, in good conscience, do something like that. Too many people could be at risk."

And her fears aren't unfounded; with as many people here as there are, Carbon has found herself more and more task saturated recently. Thankfully it's never happened during an actual emergency, but the possibility is still there. Not only that, but just having another _helicopter_ could prove problematic. As a general rule, helicopters are 'flying contradictions'; on one tine, just jarring their rotor assembly too much or hitting their canopy too hard could kill them. On the other, Carbon herself has seen helicopters (Halo, namely, but he doesn't count) take serious beatings without so much as a flinch.

"Vhat if ve get anotzher mechanic?" Halo offers, cutting off Carbon's train of thought. Admittedly, she does perk up when the offer—more like bribe—is made, but her own reservations overpower her consideration. For the moment, at least. "You get anotzher mechanic for Base, and I get anotzher helitanker. Zhat vay, both get vhat ve vant  _ and _ zhe Base benefits as whole, yes?" The large helicopter (the largest on Base at the moment, and the largest aircraft here  _ period _ ) rolls forward a few paces, encroaching on the white tug's space—or at least trying to. Considering his size, roughly equal to a Boeing 737 and being on the upper end of what the Base could safely house, he doesn't get far; only his head, if barely, gets passed the door. She'd give him an 'A' for effort, though the attempt at intimidation is laughable.

"What,  _ today? _ " Carbon scoffs, thoroughly unconvinced. "Can't say you're gonna find another mechanic, trained to treat both fixed-wings and rotorcraft, let alone terranean vehicles, on such short notice." She is rather amused at the prospect; a new mechanic, in the middle of fire season? Yeah, right. Speaking of short notice, though... "Wait. When is this helitanker supposed to arrive, anyway?"

"Zhree days, give or take."

Three days? He must be joking. "Please tell me you don't expect to find another _trained_ mechanic in less than three days."

"No, no. Iz impossible, said yourself." Halo points out, rolling back on his gear in thought. He flicks his long, heavy rotor blades—helicopter-speak for any number of things, as Carbon's learned, from contentedness to an unspoken threat—but she doesn't so much care for the body language part right now. Not only has the Chief been particularly flighty this morning, but she really doesn't want him to clip the roof with one of his rotors. Replacing those fuckers is a right pain in the aft; thankfully, Halo does not clip the roof, and Carbon can rest easy knowing she won't be replacing any of his rotor blades in the near future. "But if took... steps, in direction of gettings anotzher mechanic-" he continues, "-vould consider takings on zhe new  _ vertolet?[1] _ " 

The offer is tempting—though Carbon would be repairing people with duct tape, something she had long ago sworn against, before she'd admit it. Another 'tanker in exchange for another mechanic... by no means a fair trade given the current circumstances, but it  _ would _ allow the CMO to get her Repair Bay in a place she had wanted it for a long time. But at the same time, the risk involved- She turns to Torque, the blue and red tug that serves as her assistant, for help. His expression is considerate, so Carbon figures he's been listening to the conversation the entire time. With her pleading look, Torque gives her a reassuring smile and nods, urging her on with his tines.  _ Go on,  _ he's saying.  _ We'll be fine. Do it. _

So, against Carbon's better judgement, she turns back to Halo.

“Fine,” she relents, feeling both a sense of accomplishment and immense guilt in her tank. Halo grins at her; that predatory, ‘looks threatening but actually isn’t’ smile that can put anyone on edge. Carbon knows he doesn’t mean it that way, but that smile really does suggest he’s had an ulterior motive for the whole thing. She turns away to grab a shoprag off the nearest sink and goes on to wring it in tine. “What’s the new helitanker’s model?”

“AgustaVestland AW139, so papervork said. Mayday speakings highly of him, says is promising. Zhough, is apparently… vhat vording- hot-headed? Yes, hot-headed. But vas recommended by Mayday, no doubt vill be good.” Halo rumbles, again rolling back a few paces. Mayday, as Carbon remembered, was one of the Chief’s long-time friends—they’d worked together, years ago now, back when helitankers were first put into service. That was back when Chief Mancini was around, but Mayday had since retired from the lines in California and went East to settle in a small town as their only firefighter. But what does Mayday have to do with-

Wait.

“Are you telling me this is all a favor for Mayday?” Carbon spits, suddenly rather irritated and feeling her tines twitch. The shoprag she’d been wringing in her tines fell to the floor uselessly. “I know you worked with him back in the day, but Chief, we should not be taking on another helitanker, especially not as a favor to one of your old coworkers! Did you not even bother to consult Torch or Sawyer about this? Is that why you came to me? So you didn’t have to argue with them over the ridiculous logic in taking another helitanker?” That would explain why Halo was so flighty this morning; Carbon has half a mind to take back her agreement and go tell Mayday to send that ‘tanker elsewhere. She almost does, and very well would have if Torque hadn’t placed a tine on her side.

“Yes, and no. Mayday  _ did _ askings me to take on trainee, but came after had already speakings about interest in taking new helitanker. No, did not fail to speakings vith Torch and Sawyer, and not comings to you to avoid argument. Torch and Sawyer have agreed to new ‘tanker, already, if not… reluctantly.” 

“That’s because there’s no point arguing with you—you’re a stubborn old _mule!”_

That makes Halo laugh out loud, if only because he knows it’s true. Carbon feels the anger slowly leaving her body, and she sags on her tires. She loves him, both as a friend and as a coworker, but by Gods Chief Halo drives her halfway to conniption without even trying. She sighs, and Halo begins to turn around, probably heading to his own hangar. Whether he’d be working on paperwork or just messing around is anybody’s guess, but Carbon figured the latter. Halo had a terrible track record when it came to paperwork—most of it was filled out by Torch, in the end.

“You said he’s an AgustaWestland?” She asks as he leaves, rolling up to the door.

_ “Da.” _

Of course he is. He just has to be an AgustaWestland—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but the situation isn’t ideal (not that it was in the first place). Theoretically, AWs could make some very good helitankers (139s with their largest-in-class cabins and their larger counterparts, especially), but in application? Agustas are rare on the fire line[2]—mostly bred to be docile, predictable, graceful, luxurious; truly a designer breed[3] if she’d ever seen one—and aren’t heavy lifters by any means. None were particularly inclined to take labor-intensive occupations like firefighting when they could be making money off the rich and powerful as private transportation. Given their rarity on the line, the entire breed is essentially unpredictable—Carbon has no examples to go off in the first place, so she knows nothing about how they handle. In practice, there would be no telling how an AgustaWestland would handle this job without seeing it first-hand.

Yet, one is apparently on his way, having been recommended by one of the most passionate, caring firefighters Carbon knew. Mayday had faith in this kid’s promise, so Carbon would take his word for it.

It is going to be a long season, she can already tell.

“And his ETA is three days out?” Halo only nods this time, and the Chief Mechanic huffs. “Right, three days and a lot of things to get done. So skedaddle, I got work to do.” Not that she needs to tell him that; the Chief is already turning around, maneuvering his considerable bulk around with surprising grace. “I’d rather this kid’s first impression of me- well,  _ us _ , not be this disaster of a hangar, thank you very much.” She starts rolling the door closed as she continues talking. “And while you’re doing  _ whatever _ , don’t forget to get us a new mechanic, y’hear?”

The Chief gives her a lazy quarter turn of his rotors in acknowledgement, and Carbon rolls her eyes. Halo turning tail is the last thing she sees as she closes the door behind her. For a moment she sits there, with a tine still on the door. Then she turns around, looking at her Repair Bay—organized chaos though it is—and sighs. Three days is not going to be enough time to get it clean, but they’ll try.

“Hey Torque, get your aft over here and help me move some boxes!”

\- § -

Carbon and Halo idle on the apron by the Repair Bay three days later, accompanied by Torch and Sawyer, just in time to watch as the new helitanker arrives. He is preceded by the powerful, high whine of his engines, which bounces off the valley walls; needless to say, they hear him before they see him. While the noise itself isn’t deafening, it is still loud enough to garner some attention—soon, Carbon sees noses and props sticking out of hangar doors, watching the sky for their new arrival. Even those on their leader-mandated Zulu Brief[4] are stirred into wakefulness; if they were even really sleeping to begin with. It wouldn’t be surprising if they weren’t; the anticipation of new arrivals always left everybody excited, making sleep virtually impossible. Carbon speaks from experience, considering  _ certain _ people ( _ coughHotspotcough)  _ were left bouncing off the walls. Even now,  _ especially _ now, the anticipation on Base is palpable. 

As the trainee helitanker lands gracefully and precisely on the nearest helipad, Carbon immediately takes note of his(?) appearance[5]. “There is no _way_ they’re just an AgustaWestland.” She blurts out, though that might be an overstatement. The trainee is definitely an AgustaWestland, but not purebred; Carbon can tell just by looking at them. The AgustaWestland hybrid is three-quarters fire engine red, including sponsons, and one quarter white, plus stripes on their vertical stabilizer. A black matte oblong is on their nose, which is replicated on the _301_ on their side. They have the slender, refined fuselage of a traditional AgustaWestland, yet the additional ‘fin’ on the underside of their tail boom and the four-bladed rotor assembly seem to come from either an AW109 or mixed blood with some sort of Bell. They smack of _someone_ , too, like Carbon has seen them before.

“No?” Asks Sawyer, the gold-on-white Cessna Stationair, from somewhere near the mechanic’s rear left tire. The curiosity in his voice is almost genuine, but Carbon’s known the Lieutenant long enough to know that he doesn’t actually care and probably has as much ability to tell helicopters apart as Cabbie does; which isn’t much. It seems that, out of all the aircraft Carbon has ever met, fixed-wings had the hardest time telling rotary-wings apart. She doesn’t know _why_ they couldn’t, but consequently they weren’t very interested in learning about the differences, either. Despite this, Carbon chooses to humor her teammate. 

“No. See, if you look at him, he does look like a pure AgustaWestland at first glance,” she starts as Torch and Halo roll off to welcome the new helitanker. “It’s an easy mistake to make.  _ But _ , his vertical stabilizers—see how he has that additional ‘fin’ with the wire sticking out of it[6]?—comes from the AW109. He also only has four rotor blades when his model, the AW139, generally has five. I’d attribute that to being mixed with an AW109, but the possible Bell blood probably has something to do with it, as well. It’s a wonder he isn’t a skid gear—but then again, AgustaWestland genes tend to run strong no matter what they’re crossbred with.” Carbon glances back at Sawyer to see his eyes had glazed over; like an information overload. She sighs. So much for trying to explain genetics, but what else did she expect?

By now, Halo and Torch are rolling back to the Repair Bay, the significantly smaller trainee sandwiched between them. They are too far away to hear what they’re saying, specifically, but it is plainly obvious how uncomfortable the red and white AgustaWestland is. Their rotors are pinned back—again, helicopter-speak; in this case, they’re probably just trying not to touch the other two—and he only responds when spoken to. Even then, his responses seem to be clipped and to the point, and as they got closer Carbon couldn’t hear him. By the time they got up to the Repair Bay, the trainee had stopped responding altogether. In that case, they  _ might _ be shy, or just overwhelmed; being sandwiched between a Mil Mi-26 and a Lockheed C-130 Hercules is known to do that to people. Carbon doesn’t blame them.

They glance around expressionlessly, taking in this new location with a wary, perceptive eye. The tension in the Agusta’s body is more obvious up close, but their expression—or lack thereof—doesn’t betray how they’re feeling. One thing’s for sure: Mayday’s recommended trainee does _not_ want to be here. Whether here as in Piston Peak as a whole or just around Halo and Torch is unclear; either way, they’d clearly rather be anywhere _but_ here. 

“So this is our new kid, huh?” Carbon asks playfully once the group stops, trying to dispel the obvious tension in the air and make the trainee feel more welcome. Nothing changes, so it probably didn’t work. Either way, she regards the Agusta, who meets her gaze with their own—they’re blue-eyed, too. Another oddity for an AgustaWestland; most of the breed have dark eyes, probably thanks to the Italian heritage. This one’s, however, are an intense,  _ haunted _ gray-blue. That makes her pause, probably longer than necessary. When she realizes she’s staring, Carbon shakes herself and steamrolls on. “I’m Carbon, Piston Peak’s Chief Mechanic, and this guy on my left is Lieutenant Sawyer. You’ll be seeing a lot of us around here from now on since, well, you’ll be living here for the season. Got a name, kid?”

“Blade Ranger.” The answer comes without wasting a beat, but through gritted teeth and with an irritated flick of the rotors, like he didn’t want to say it but had no other choice. 

So that’s where she recognizes him from; it’s no wonder she didn’t catch on sooner, though. He’d looked better, more recognizable in the blues—red was just too _bright_ for him, for his personality. Why he traded them out for red, why he is at Piston Peak in the first place, is beyond Carbon. Whatever the reason, he’s still here to be a firefighter, and Halo’s gonna treat him like it. She takes this new information in stride, though still wondering just why he looks so haunted at only thirty-five years old.

“Well, _Hollywood_ ,” she says, watching as Blade instantly scowls at her in response. She ignores the look and throws her tines out in welcome. “Welcome to Piston Peak Air Attack. Can’t say I ever expected you to trade in your blues to come rough it out here in the woods with us, but I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt. So, why don’t you come into the Repair Bay behind me, and we’ll get ya started on your physical. That way I know where we’re at with you, Halo doesn’t get snippy, and you get out in the field faster. That alright with you? Good, c’mon in.” Blade briefly glances up at Halo, as if concerned he might be recognized, but the Chief simply snorts and turns to head off without any indication of recognizing who Blade actually was. Torch and Sawyer follow his lead, and with them gone, Blade follows her into the Repair Bay.

He sets himself up beside the lift long before she thinks to ask him to; clearly he’s familiar with getting physicals. Considering his former career, it’s hardly surprising. “So, Hollywood,” she starts, trying to make small talk, break the ice. “What made you want to be a firefighter? I’d never think you shallow enough to do a publicity stunt, and you seemed to be doin’ just fine before-”

“The reasons behind my coming here are  _ none _ of your concern,” Blade responds severely, cutting her off. It sounds less like he’s trying to be mean and more of just being defensive, but nevertheless it catches Carbon slightly off guard. Raising her tines in a placating gesture, she waits a moment before approaching the lift. Obviously, the AgustaWestland would rather keep his motivations for joining the fire service to himself; not that Carbon would hold that against him. Blade is one of her teammates now, and just like with the others who have been here much longer than he has, Carbon would respect his privacy. Everyone on Base had things they’d rather keep hidden, and Blade is no different.

“Right.” Carbon says as she raises the lift, quietly having Blade pop his port engine door. From there, the physical goes smoothly; Carbon had learned her lesson, and only asked for the information that she actually needed. From that shaky start, they immediately get into checking out Blade’s internal equipment; engines, MGB[7], avionics, you name it. Everything checks out in that regard, and Carbon moves on to the more _physical_ tests; everything checks out there, too, except for two things. First, his retardant tank; the one Blade currently has is not to-spec for an AgustaWestland (they never are)[8]—Carbon easily trades it out for another one, one that should work until she can make necessary modifications. The second issue Carbon finds is actually with Blade’s tail boom; nothing on it is broken, not at all, but the panel she notices is at least slightly confusing.

The panel in question, spotted on the starboard side of Blade’s tail boom, is about two feet long and a foot or so from the base of the tail. What’s strange about it is that the weld marks are  _ incredibly  _ obvious—judging from the brutal efficiency of them, Carbon could tell it was something reparative, and done on the fly thanks to the obvious lack of concern for cosmetics. That also comes as a surprise; helicopters always seem to be the most conscious about cosmetic appearances, and finding noticeable weld marks on them is rare. Whatever the panel was for, Blade clearly hadn’t had it done for cosmetic appeal. Curious, Carbon lightly taps the panel with her tine; “What’s this?”

Blade jumps so hard he nearly knocks into Carbon. “What’s what?”

He’s playing dumb, Carbon can tell. “This panel, here. It’s not often I see a helicopter that  _ obviously _ had work done; haven’t some of you guys gone so far as to replace  _ entire tail booms _ to avoid scarring?” Okay, that  _ might _ be an exaggeration; helicopters may be weird about scarring and weld marks, but the only times she’d heard of them replacing entire tail booms was when they somehow managed to take the end of it off. Regardless, her point stands. 

Blade is quiet for a long time; long enough to make Carbon uncomfortable. When he finally speaks, his voice is nearly a whisper, thick with some emotion Carbon can’t identify. “I-I’m not really comfortable talking about that.” And that’s all he says.

Carbon drops the subject.

\- § -

Later, long after the physical is done, Carbon is confident Blade is ready.  _ More _ than ready, actually, to take to the fireline—once he’s got some 1-on-1 field training under his swashplate, that is. All he needs now is for Halo to sign off, but that would come after training… which would come tomorrow. Today had been quiet, and the Chief is not the type of person to squander the rare moments of relaxation Mother Nature has afforded him. He would not be leaving the Base unless the Park was burning down, and with the current weather they were having, it isn’t likely. So in the meantime, Hollywood (if the nickname bothers him he doesn’t voice it, so Carbon will keep using it) can go socialize with his teammates. When she tells Blade this, she gets a huff from the Agusta, who is still sitting next to her lift like he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself.

“Do I have to?” Blade asks, dead serious as he sits by the lift. He really doesn’t need to be there anymore, she’s told him that a few times now, but the AgustaWestland seems to have no inclination to move. He probably just doesn’t know what to do, given he _is_ in an unfamiliar place with people he doesn’t yet know.

“Of course you do,” Carbon answers shortly, admittedly a bit surprised. Helicopters may be solitary by nature, to at least some extent, but most are eager to socialize for a time. Carbon doesn’t understand why Blade wouldn’t want to. He’s a newly certified firefighter at his first field job, yet he isn’t jumping on the opportunity to get involved with the Base’s social circles—perhaps he’s just shy. “You’re not exactly a trainee anymore, Hollywood—you aren’t going to be leaving in a month or two like you did at the Academy. No, you’re actually hired and will be here for the full season. You bonding with the rest of your teammates will greatly benefit the Base and the team as a whole, especially in the name of team cohesion. You need to at least be familiar with everybody.”

“With Chief Ivanov and Deputy Chief Torch,” Blade deadpans, as if he seriously believes he’ll be set if he’s only familiar with two of his five commanding officers, and he gives the tug an unreadable look as he watches her putter around the bay. His eyes, however, and the way he carries his rotors, suggests he is _highly_ opposed to the idea of socializing. It’s almost like he’s _afraid_ to, or at least had some anxiety about it. Carbon figures it’s just social anxiety, common in helicopters, and chooses to write it off while still gently imploring Blade to at least try.

She sighs, and turns back to Blade. “I can’t…  _ force _ you, to socialize. But I highly recommend that you do, if not for the team but for yourself as well. This entire team, and yourself, will 100% benefit from it. Trust me, I know.” The mechanic sets her clipboard, the one she’d used for Blade’s physical, on a nearby box, still watching Blade as he fidgets next to the lift. “Not only that, but there’s an entire  _ team _ of helicopters just waiting to get the chance to meet you. They’ve been excited about it ever since Halo told them you were coming; you wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

Blade considers what Carbon said for a moment, giving a slow quarter turn of his rotors as he does. After several moments of silence, he gives a resigned sigh and carefully rolls away from the lift and into the center of the room. While he doesn’t say anything, the meaning behind his actions is loud and clear:  _ waiting on you _ . Alright then. Carbon takes it as a win and rolls towards the doors. 

“C’mon then, Hollywood,” she urges. “We got some people to meet.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I see you made it! I hope you enjoyed. Now here are some further notes, as promised:
> 
> [1] 'vertolet' - Russian for helicopter
> 
> [2] 'Agustas are rare on the fire line' - as of 1985 in this universe, AgustaWestlands have yet to become common in the world of firefighting. In fact, most equipment is not to-spec for them thanks to this rarity. They'll become more common eventually, especially in major cities.
> 
> [3] '...truly a designer breed' - in my world, I refer to companies as 'breeds'; AgustaWestlands are a designer breed, or a breed that has purebred ancestry, thanks to being a merger of the Italian company, Agusta, and the English company, Westland
> 
> [4] 'Zulu Brief' - a leader-mandated nap
> 
> [5] '...take note of his(?) appearance.' - in hc helicopters have very little to no sexual dimorphism outside of voices and organs. No, I am not going to explain sex organs in any sort of sentient vehicle (at least not yet). Anyway, Carbon could not tell that Blade was male, so she used gender-neutral pronouns (and later contradicts herself, I know).
> 
> [6] '...how he has that additional 'fin' with the wire sticking out of it?' - Blade's design in the story is [here](https://sta.sh/0xzxjgorrdk) for clarification
> 
> [7] 'MGB' - main gearbox
> 
> [8] '...not to-spec for an AgustaWestland (they never are)' - refer back to point [2]
> 
> *Additional Note: Halo's appearance almost exactly is [here](https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/russia/images/ru_helo_mi26_03.jpg) and Torch's appearance is [here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cc/Lockheed_C-130_Hercules.jpg).


End file.
